Hath Play'd the Painter
by tempestquill
Summary: He's just the ex-junkie painter who happens to paint the future, she's the indestructible cheerleader good at playing the part of damsel in distress, but there is a messenger from the future who could change all of that...
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Heroes belongs to Tim Kring and NBC. I have no affiliation with Heroes. I'm just playing in Tim Kring's sandbox for a little while.

Author's Notes: Beta'd by my Aunt Juli.

"Hath Play'd the Painter"

By C.K. Blake

One:

_A series of events in life can lead to many different things in the outcome of one person's future, or even the world. To have the power to go back and change but one thing can be the catalyst for a whole new world, even something as simple as meeting someone you are fated never to know._

_Still, the future is subject to change, even in the lives of those who only see it set in stone. Events happen in a certain sequence, why is anyone's guess, but reason and logic can be discovered in the process. This is what ties together the human race, the ability to find reason and logic even in the most strangest of circumstances and turn it towards our species' benefit, for we are a species bent on survival and growth and evolution._

--

_"Save the Cheerleader, save the world."_

Those words are haunting, taunting, and beyond maddening, especially when there seems to be no redemption lying in wait for the artist who holds the key to saving the cheerleader. He's not even the one who receives the message to save this mysterious young girl that he's been painting in a myriad of doped up moments in his life for the last six months. Moments that he can't remember when he finds himself conscious once more, after the white has faded from his vision.

He knows she needs to be saved. He even knows she exists, even if he hasn't met her. Her name is Claire Bennet, she lives in Odessa, Texas, and up until a few months ago she was a normal sixteen-year-old girl with but one ambition in life, to be normal, and maybe try out for the cheerleading team.

She's a pretty little blonde slip of a thing with a nice build, attitude, and wholesome innocence. She also has the ability to walk away from things that normally kill people. She's tried killing herself numerous time, and she can pick herself up and walk away without a scratch on her, despite the congealing blood on her undamaged skin.

Claire is like him, only not in the same way. Where she can heal, Isaac Mendez can paint the future. Isaac knows that Claire needs to be saved, he even knows who is going to save her, and he hates that's he's made to be inadequate once again by Peter Petrelli, the man who has stolen everything good in Isaac's life, Simone Deveaux.

Peter Petrelli, sainted hero and fated martyr, or so everyone thinks, but Isaac knows different. He can see the shadows that can slip inside of Peter, change that inner need of his to save the world. He has painted Peter's future, and he's seen one other, who while not like Peter, is someone Peter can become, Sylar.

Yes, Isaac has painted what Peter is capable of, and he hates that it is still Peter that everyone has faith in. He paints the future, but did Simone believe him? Granted that was mostly while he was high, but still, Peter comes out of nowhere and tells her he can fly and she's all for believing that.

Isaac is not bitter, he's just defeated, and he's painted something that gives him chills. He's painted the last of his future. Peter is set to blow under pressure, even while everyone still has faith in him, but who will be around for Isaac's last moments? No one except the man that will crucify him. Sylar will be the only one to hear his last confession, and that's enough for him to accept his fate like a man. Isaac paints the future, and he will not be bitter at the end.

--

He remembers the vow he made with himself, about how time travel is dangerous, then again, he is also the one who broke that very vow. He remembers going to Peter that day in the subway and telling him, "Save the cheerleader, save the world."

It worked that time, but six years later where has it left them? The world is in need of saving once more, this time though, Peter is the one destroying it. Sylar has joined their small crusade against the darkness that has overtaken Peter Petrelli. Nothing has been the same since Nathan's death, and Claire is broken beyond repair, even if she doesn't carry a single scar to show for it. Peter is hell bent on destroying them all, and it all starts with one young girl's crush growing to mean something more, even after she learns that what she feels is forbidden, but by then it's too late.

Someone has to intervene long enough to keep Claire and Peter apart. Someone has to paint a new future, and so that is how Hiro Nakamura finds himself once more back in the past when he swore to himself, "Never again."

He looks around at the bright blue Texas sky. He's in Odessa, a few days after the main event of Peter saving Claire. The Haitian has touched those around Claire, and yet he spared Claire and left her memories intact, even gave her a few things to think about. He shakes his head, still not quite believing that he's doing this. He hopes it's enough this time.

He sees her walking stiffly from the football field, the warm Texas breeze ruffling the short skirt of her cheer uniform against her thighs. He takes in a breath and lets it out slowly. It's now or never. The future's fate hangs in the balance. He wonders when that burden gained so much weight on his shoulders.

He waits for her to draw closer, and when she steps past the alcove where he's hidden in the shadow, he steps out, and says, "Claire Bennet."

--

She pauses, a chill slipping up her spine at the sound of her name from a voice that is both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. She can't explain it, but she feels as though she should recognize that voice from somewhere. She turns and her eyes widen at the sight of a stern-faced Japanese man dressed all in black with a samurai sword sheathed across his back. She takes a cautious step back and he says, "Wait, I come from the future. I know you remember. Peter saved you because I told him to."

Again she pauses and tilts her head to the side, assessing him. "You know Peter Petrelli?"

He nods. "Yes, and there is something very important that I must tell you. Go to New York. Save the painter, save Peter Petrelli. Remember, save the painter," he says, and then reaches for her hand before he disappears before her very eyes.

She takes in a sharp breath and then looks down at her hand. Her hazel eyes widen as she looks down at the rolled up comic book in her hand. She unrolls it and reads the title "9th Wonders!" She furrows her brow, wondering how this can help her, and then she turns it over, and flips open to the last page of the comic and sees a picture of a man. He's one of those brooding artist types with brown hair barely cut an inch from his shoulders, a perpetual five o'clock shadow firmly in place, and haunted dark eyes that look like they've seen too much already in his life. He looks young, older than her obviously, but no older than his mid to late twenties. He might even be handsome too, if one was into that dark brooding artist type, which Claire Bennet isn't at all.

She looks around her and shivers despite the heat. This is Texas, warm, familiar, and everything she's ever known. She has everything she could want, normal, a family, shallow friends and she's on the cheer squad. She's also lost so much in the last few days, and now she's back where she started, in hiding, unsure of who to trust with her secret, her power to heal. She's learning that everything she's known is a lie, and now she has the chance to find the truth, and maybe herself. If this man from the future is telling her the truth then Peter is in trouble, and she owes him. After all he was willing to sacrifice his life for hers.

She looks down once again to the comic, her eyes meeting the dark, intense gaze of Isaac Mendez, the artist and writer. She takes in a sharp breath and lets it out slowly as she says, "Save the painter, save Peter Petrelli. Doesn't sound too hard. Now sneaking out of the house and getting a plane ticket to New York? That might be a little tricky."

--

He thought finding a way of inducing his cognitive state was difficult without drugs. That's easy, it's living that's proving difficult. Granted the dugs had only made things worse, but at least when he was high he wasn't aware of how much worse things were. It's kind of difficult being an ex-junkie in New York, especially in his neighborhood, but he's managing it.

Right now his power of determination is being sorely tested by his art agent and coincidentally his ex-girlfriend, Simone Deveaux. He's leaning against the counter in his small kitchenette, holding a glass of water between his clasped hands, and watching her as she paces around his loft. She's also ranting, but right now he's filtering that out. He's observing her, the way her body moves, how she's clearly agitated, and finally she stops in front of him, and from the jut of her jaw and the sharp look in her dark eyes he knows that she expects him to do something. She expects him to find everyone's hero of the hour, Peter Petrelli.

"You said you can focus your ability now! So why aren't you doing something?" she snaps.

He pushes himself forward from the counter and snorts. "You just want me to find your precious new boyfriend, Simone. It doesn't work that way! You can't come to me to find him! I know I screwed up before, but you have no right to just ask me to do something like this for you! It's not always about you! Sometimes there is a bigger purpose in life with the gifts we have! I wasn't give this ability just to find Saint Peter fucking Petrelli on a whim!"

"Oh but you Ican/I paint him exploding like a nuclear bomb and wiping out half of the city?" she replies back coldly.

"That's not fair! I don't control or dictate what I paint!"

"But you can find him if you wanted to!" she accuses.

"He's not what's important right now! I won't even live to see him go up in flames, Simone!" he grinds out, and then his eyes widen as he realizes what he's just said.

She takes a step back, a look of shock on her pretty, dark face. "Isaac? What are you saying? You've been gone for what two, three weeks, you come back clean, and now you're talking about not living?"

He shakes his head and then walks across the room, he snatches the sheet off of his latest painting and he hears her gasp of horror. He senses when she draws near him, close enough to his back that he can feel the heat radiating from her body. It's an intimate stance, familiar between them, but it doesn't mean anything anymore. She has Peter on her mind, and he's kind of living on borrowed time.

"When did you paint this?" she asks, her voice soft with her concern.

He pulls away from her and runs his hands through his hair. "Last night. Sylar's going to find me Simone, and that is what he's gonna do to me. So how about you just leave and give me some time to adjust to this, okay?"

"But Peter saved the cheerleader. Maybe he could save you too. It doesn't have to be true. It could be changed," she whispers gently as she reaches out for him.

He jerks away from her and shakes his head fiercely as he growls, "I don't want to be saved by Peter Petrelli or you for that matter. Just go. It'll all be better for me if you just leave right now and don't look back."

He flinches at the sound of the door opening and closing behind her. He's defeated, and now Simone is too, at least when it comes to him. Maybe Peter in all of his heroic glory can save what's left of her, what Isaac's left behind. He can't really bring himself to care much, because then he'll hurt all over again. It's better this way, letting her go so she won't see what's left of him when Sylar is finished with him.

He's about to head back to his kitchenette to grab the left-over low mein from last night out of his fridge when he feels the familiar twitch in his hand, and there it is, the white blinding him and clouding his vision. He stumbles for a moment, reaching blindly to set up an easel with a fresh canvas, and it isn't long before he's got paint on his palette and a brush in hand.

His hands work furiously with a precision that has become second nature to him over the years. He wonders how this is possible, his body using his skill to do something that is almost beyond his control. He's dragged back from his thoughts and into reality as the white fades from his vision and takes in the painting. He recognizes the door to his loft and also the young girl standing in front of it, her arms wrapped around herself, almost like she's shivering, and it's raining outside. She has a hesitant look on her face, like she's building up the nerve to knock.

He runs his tongue across his mouth as he pushes his hair back behind his ear, making a face at the paint he gets in it. He tilts his head to the side, wondering what Claire Bennet would be doing at his door. He knows it's her, and he wonders if maybe he'll get a chance to meet her. Something stirs in his gut, and he hopes that maybe he'll get to meet her before he meets Sylar. He really hopes she isn't the one that discovers his body.

--

It's only taken a week to change her entire life. She thinks it should feel a little more profound than it does. She hasn't changed physically, at this point she doesn't even know if she can. All she's done is cashed in her entire savings account bought a plane ticket under a fabricated name and traveled to a city she's never been to before with only a backpack's worth of clothes, a comic book, and three hundred dollars. She just hopes that this painter she's supposed to save is hospitable, because she's heard things about the streets of New York and she's seen those made-for-TV movies too.

She shivers a little as she steps out of the airport, whether from the unexpected chill of the atmosphere around her or from anticipation she doesn't know. She hails a cab, and fights her way into the back when an overzealous man with a briefcase makes a dash for the same cab. She slams the door, nearly catching the man's hand. He smacks the window of the cab, but then tries to hail the next available taxi.

The driver looks up into the rearview mirror, amusement apparent in his expression. His skin is dark and his teeth are white in his broad grin as he asks in a fluid, unfamiliar accent, "Where to young lady?"

She takes in a deep breath and says, "215 Reed Street, please."

He raises a brow at her, and she assures him she can pay him. He shrugs and pulls out into traffic, the meter going. She hugs her backpack close, still in disbelief over the fact that she's actually done this. She's run away from home to find some painter to save a guy she only met once, because some weirdo samurai from the future told her to. Yeah, because that's something totally normal to do. Then again, there aren't too many teenage girls who can jump off of a sixty-foot high scaffolding and walk away without a scratch on her.

The cab pulls up to a curb, and the driver tells her this is her stop. She pays a ridiculously high fee, and then remembers that people always tip cab drivers in the movies, so she parts with some more money. As she gets out of the cab the first drop of rain falls, and then the floodgates open to a torrential downpour. By the time she's reached the building's landing she's soaked.

As luck would have it, there is an elderly man with an umbrella stepping out of the building. She grabs the door on the pretence of holding it open for him. Once he's down the stoop she scurries inside and heads up the stairs to the top floor. It isn't long before she finds herself standing once again out in the rain in front of the door of Isaac Mendez's loft, contemplating on whether or not she should knock or just go to the nearest payphone, call her father, and deal with the consequences. She blanches at the thought of her father, his lies and losing her memories like Zack, Lyle, and her mother.

She straightens the backpack on her shoulder, takes in a deep breath, reaches up and raps her knuckles on the door, and as she waits she bites her lip and hopes this isn't a mistake.

--

A shiver crawls up his spine as he begins to clean his brushes in the sink with turpentine. He shakes his head, choosing to ignore the feeling, and then the hair on the back of his neck rises as he hears a knock at his door. His eyes widen. It can't be.

He quickly rinses off his hands, grabs an old paint stained towel to dry his hands as he makes his way to the door and pulls it open. And there she is, soaked to the bone, her hair in wet ringlets down her back, water beaded in her eyelashes, shivering at his door, just as he'd painted.

He wonders what he must look like, standing at his own door, his mouth hanging open, just staring at her. Finally he shakes himself from his stupor and says, "Hey, come on in. Can't have you catching a cold after all the trouble we went through to save you."

Her hazel eyes grow wide as she looks at him, and again he wonders what could possibly bring her to his door.

"You're Isaac Mendez, right? The painter?" she asks.

"Yeah, that would be me. I'm kinda surprised you didn't say junkie. So you're the cheerleader," he says with a slight chuckle as he shakes his head in disbelief. "What brought you all the way to New York?"

A violent shiver wracks her body before she can answer, and he shakes himself again and says, "Right, explanations can wait. Let's get you a towel and some dry clothes, and then you can tell me what you're doing here."

She gives a terse nod, and follows him down a small, open hallway. There's a closed door on her right, and at the end of the hall there's an open door with a toilet visible. He pulls the bathroom door open wider and grabs a towel from that towel rack thing Simone had insisted on and gives it to her. She takes it gratefully and begins to dry her hair.

He slips past her and a few minutes later he returns with an old black t-shirt with some band on it, and a pair of gray sweat pants. He offers the clothes to her and she takes them and says, "Mind if I take a shower?"

He shakes his head. "Not at all. You'll find everything you need on the shower caddy. Sorry, but all I've got is some Old Spice soap and men's shampoo."

She shakes her head. "It's not like you were expecting me or anything. It's okay. Um, wow, I've never done anything like this. I'm sorry."

"Weird things have been happening a lot lately. Look, you get cleaned up and dried off, and I'll order some take out and we'll talk. Hey, you got a place to go tonight?" he asks, and he can tell from the blush of her cheeks that she doesn't. "Right, well, I've got a bed in my room and a futon out in the main room where my studio is. You can take the bed tonight."

She gives a jerky nod and then raises her brows at him. He takes in a sharp breath and winces as he realizes that she probably doesn't want him hanging out in the bathroom while she's in the shower, well that and she's also sixteen. He's headed toward jailbait territory. He shakes his head at the thought as he backs out of the room and closes the door behind him. That is so not going to happen, for one thing she's probably totally in love with Peter Petrelli, and for another, well he's got a play date with Sylar looming in his future.

He lets out a sigh as he heads down the hall, snatches the phone from its charger on the small kitchenette counter and then dials a familiar number. Looks like Chinese again tonight. He makes sure to order a little bit of everything and hopes that there's something that the cheerleader will like. He also can't help but wonder when Noah Bennet will call to ask if he's painted anything else that involves his precious daughter Claire.

--

Working the shampoo in her hair she wonders if her healing abilities will help her hair survive the very cheap and masculine shampoo she's lathering into it. Sure it's a shallow thought, but she's a sixteen-year-old girl and former cheerleader. She's allowed at least one shallow thought every now and then. Rinsing off and drying is a quick process, especially when the once steamy hot water suddenly turns to a freezing blast. She pulls out a pair of panties from her backpack, thankful that they're dry, and then she's pulling on the shirt and sweats that Isaac brought her.

She has to admit that he's not exactly what she'd been expecting. For one thing the picture of him on the comic hardly did the man justice, and he doesn't seem to be flaky, which is how she would expect an artist to be. She gets a look at herself in the mirror over the sink and nibbles nervously on her bottom lip. As she reaches for the doorknob she says softly, "Here's to hoping he's not some raging psycho."

She steps out of the bathroom, and lifts her nose in the air at the smell of food. Her stomach gives an enthusiastic gurgle, and she realizes that she hasn't eaten anything since breakfast this morning. She slowly approaches the kitchenette, and the first thing she notices is the two bags of what looks like Chinese take-out on the counter along with a small packet of chopsticks.

She reaches into the bag and grabs the first box she touches and pulls it out. She pulls open the flaps, the sweet smell of low mein greeting her. She takes a seat on the counter, her feet swinging a little as she grabs up the chopsticks, breaking them apart and then trying to figure out how to hold them. She looks up with a jerk at the chuckle that comes from across the room. She'd been so wrapped up in the idea of food that she'd forgotten where she was along with the fact that she's currently in a complete stranger's home, and something about his chuckle does funny, fluttering things to her stomach.

"Never used chopsticks before, huh?" he asks, a grin tugging at his mouth, and she can feel the heat that rises to her cheeks as he shifts, dropping his own chopsticks in his carton of food and then crossing the room to get to her.

She freezes as he reaches by her and pulls open a drawer. She looks down and sees it's a drawer full of forks, knives, and spoons. He gives her a pointed look at the sound of her grumbling stomach. "There's no shame in needing a fork, grasshopper."

She lets out a snort and says, "If you know so much, why not teach me how to use these stupid things?"

She holds up the chopsticks, and he laughs, and then nods as he takes her hand in his, changing the way she's holding her hand. He uses his callused fingers to mold her hand into the correct position, and then he slips the chopsticks between her fingers before shifting her fingers to make the sticks clack together. He lets her hand go and she lets out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. He takes a step back to get some distance between him and her, because there is just something about this girl that is so incredibly magnetic. He can see her and Petrelli having a future together, when things go south with Simone, not that he wants to see that, and damn if Peter's not a lucky man.

He watches as she mimics the motions again, and soon she's lifting out noodles with ease and cleaning out her carton. He goes back to finishing his rice, all the while keeping an eye on her, because he just can't look away.

When she sets aside the empty box she looks at him and asks about something to drink. He nods his head toward the cabinet by her head and then tells her she's welcomed to anything in his fridge. She takes a glass down from the cabinet and a moment later she's ribbing him about having a pitcher full of grape Kool-Aid. It doesn't stop her from drinking any though.

It surprises him how easy it is to be around this girl. Usually he's not so at ease around strangers or new acquaintances, but there is something special with her. Something that goes beyond her abilities. Once he's gotten the leftovers put away in the fridge he decides it's time for some answers. He resumes his place of leaning against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest, his head tilted to the side as asks, "So why are you here?"

There's something about his eyes, dark and piercing, almost like Peter's, that draw her in, and soon she finds herself telling him everything from the past few months, from finding out about her abilities, to homecoming, to that weird samurai guy telling her to save the painter.

"You're here to save me?" Isaac asks, shock in his voice, and she nods.

"That's what he told me. He told me that I had to save the painter, and then he put the comic book in my hand and there was a picture of you on the last page, and an address. So what can you do and what do you need saving from?"

Isaac runs a hand through his hair and snorts. "Wow, things must be really bad in the future if Hiro would send you here to save me. Guess they might need me after all," he says, a little bit of awe in his voice, and then he shakes his head, smiles and meets Claire's inquisitive hazel gaze from across the room. "I paint the future. I painted you and that's how Peter knew how to find you to save you, and that guy that tried to come after you, well eventually he's going to get me."

"What makes you say that?" she asks, curiosity brimming in her tone.

He pushes away from the counter and heads toward the wide-open room that he uses as his studio. Beneath her feet Claire notices a mural of the city exploding in the midst of a nuclear bomb and she shudders at the thought of it. She quickly looks away from it and finds herself drawn to a different painting, it's a man, and it looks like he's flying and the man looks so familiar.

"Peter," she whispers as she reaches toward the painting and stops just short of touching it.

"Yeah, that's him. Guess you got it bad too, huh?" Isaac says, and Claire can detect the bitterness in the words. "He took my girl away from me. I mean I can understand why she left me. I Iwas/I a junkie at the time, but she's seen the painting of what he's going to do, and she still stands by him. She could stand by him and not me."

"I guess this means you don't exactly like Peter…"

Isaac shrugs. "He's an okay guy, just has this really hardcore hero complex. We all can't be as saintly as Peter Petrelli who's out to save the world."

"He saved my life," she replies.

Isaac smiles. "Yeah, I got that. It still doesn't change what he's capable of. He's dangerous, and before you go running out in the city to look for him, like Simone did, you have to know that. All these powers he's absorbing, he can't keep that up without letting it out sometime. He's a ticking bomb. Just wait till he loses control. You might be the only one left in the aftermath, Claire. Wait until he realizes he can't save everyone, and then see what happens to him. Maybe it's a good thing that I won't be around to see that."

She makes a face at him and asks, "Why do you keep saying that? That you won't be around?"

Isaac walks across the room and pulls a sheet down from a large canvas. Claire's mouth falls open and her eyes widen in horror as she stares at the painting of Isaac, a look of agony on his face and his skull cut open, blood everywhere. She squeezes her eyes shut and quickly turns away from the painting. She doesn't open her eyes again until she hears the fluttering of a sheet that signals he's covered it up.

She looks up again, meets his dark gaze, and with a fierce determination she says, "I won't let that happen."


	2. Chapter 2

Two:

Two:

Walking down the uniform, poorly lit narrow hall reminds him of all the things he left behind in Japan when he was foolish enough to believe that he knew enough about responsibility to wisely wield his powers. There is a closeted sameness about this location, then again, in the last few years it's become necessary to live underground, in hiding, especially with what Peter has become, so far from the wide-eyed, innocent young man eager to be selfless and save the world.

Hiro Nakamura sighs with regret and shifts his shoulders, finding comfort in the weight of the sword across his back. He pauses at the door at the end of the hall. He can hear voices on the other side of the door, three voices. He slips into the room, and even after three years it's still a shock to see Sylar and know he's on their side now.

Sylar has his head tilted to the side, his dark eyes fixed intensely on Claire, and then he breaks the gaze, looks toward the thin Indian man in the room and shakes his head. "Still nothing, Dr. Suresh," Sylar says.

The Indian man lets out a grunt of dissatisfaction and runs a hand through his dark, curly hair. "All this time and she does nothing more than sleep or stare blankly at the walls. I am almost tempted to remove her feeding tube just to see if it'll get a reaction, but that would be cruel, especially after all the things she's done and been through to help us. How could he have done such a thing? And to her?"

"Mohinder," says a young girl, mostly hidden behind a computer screen. "No one could have known. He was a good man back then. Not even Matt knew what was coming. He couldn't get into Peter's head at the time."

Mohinder sighs and blanches at the mention of Matt, another loss in this undeclared war of survival. "I know Molly, but to see her like this. It isn't right."

Hiro clears his throat to get their attention. They all look up at him like he's just teleported into the room. He let's a small smile pass across his face as he says, "I used the door this time. She's still the same? Maybe not for long. I started this a long time ago, maybe I can finally do some good. Remember the last painting, the one we found hidden in Linderman's secret vault? That hasn't come to pass yet, but maybe now it can."

Mohinder's brown eyes widen, but it's Sylar who speaks. "You've done something haven't you? What if this makes things worse? Haven't you thought about that?" he growls.

Hiro bristles and snaps, "Don't you think I would consider the consequences? Of course I have, but what can be worse than right now? Seeing so many of our friends dead? Seeing Claire like this? Watching Peter become what you were? Something had to be done! I broke a vow I made a long time ago, but I owe it to Ando and all the others to try and make it right!"

"And how can you do that?" Sylar replies sharply.

"By preventing the cheerleader from falling in love with Peter Petrelli," Hiro answers softly.

--

He wakes up with a start, and then gets a look around. Sleeping in airy, abandoned buildings isn't exactly agreeing with him, but getting help from Claude seems like the only shot he has to learn how to control his abilities. He stretches the kinks out of his aching back and sore muscles, and gets a look around the place. It's not all that inviting but it's better than crashing on a random roof next to a pigeon coop like the other night.

Bits and pieces of his dream slowly come back to him, and then his eyes widen as he realizes that Claire is in the city. That isn't right though. She should be home in Texas, not out here in New York, and why would she come all this way to find Isaac Mendez?

He quickly gets to his feet, looks around, but seeing no sign of Claude he decides that he should pay Isaac a little visit. As he makes himself invisible and approaches the boarded up window that leads to the fire escape he thinks about the painter, and then he thinks about Simone and seeing her and Isaac on the roof a few days ago. Clearly things aren't as over between them as he thought. He has to admit that he's still a little sore on that topic as he slips through the boards and then leaps from the fire escape, a destination in mind as he flies through the hazy New York sky.

--

With a sleepy moan Claire begins to stretch and wake up. It doesn't take her long to realize that she's not in Odessa, Texas. For one thing she's in a strange bed, and for another there's the sounds of pans banging, a man cursing, and the smell of something burning coming from the other side of the bedroom door that has a chair pushed up against the doorknob.

She gets up, takes a look around the small bedroom, remembering where she is, New York of all places, with a man she's supposed to save and only met last night. She removes the chair from the door, steps out into the small hallway, and walks toward the smell and the cursing. She shakes her head at the sight, fighting away a giggle fit as she watches Isaac scraping at a smoking frying pan with what might have been classified as eggs before it was burned into charcoal.

"Shit," he hisses at the pan as he snatches it up, tosses it in the sink and runs cold water over it.

Claire can't stand it anymore as rich laughter bubbles out of her, and Isaac turns to her, an exasperated look on his face before a grin tugs at his mouth and he says, "What? So you think this is funny, huh?"

"Yeah, and obviously you don't cook that often do you?" she says around a giggle.

"How could you tell?" he grumbles.

She shrugs. "What's the occasion?"

"It's not every day that I have a guest," he replies.

"Guests are usually invited. It's not like you were expecting me or anything…" Claire pauses at the look on Isaac's face and nods. "Right so maybe you did expect me."

"I'm just glad you came before Sylar showed up. I'm pretty sure it's not going to be pretty," he says with a grimace.

"And I'm pretty sure it's not going to happen," Claire snaps back, her hazel eyes flashing, and Isaac can't bring himself to disagree with her, as she continues, "Now how about you get out of the way and let me fix us some breakfast, and where did this all come from anyway? Last I checked you only had Kool-Aid and leftover Chinese in you fridge."

"There's a little place around the corner."

Claire scrunches her nose as she cleans the pan and says, "Really? And what time is it? How long have you been up?"

"It's about eight thirty now. I've been up for a few hours. Couldn't really sleep much last night. I had to paint."

"Anything new?" she asks, and raises a brow at the flushed look on his face.

"You could say that," he replies and runs a hand through his hair nervously.

She rinses out the pan and then runs the dishcloth around it to dry it and says, "So when do I get to see it?"

"You don't," he answers quickly, a little too quickly.

"Why not?" she asks.

"You just don't, okay? Drop it Claire," he growls, and Claire can sense a little bit of his temper behind his tone, she'll let it go for now, but she's got a temper too and she's never been afraid to use it.

She sighs as he heads toward the area of the loft that he uses as a studio while she begins to cook breakfast, scrambled eggs and bacon, breakfast of champions.

--

He's careful to stay invisible as he lands in front of Isaac Mendez's door. He uses the telekinesis he picked up from Sylar to take care of the lock on the door and then he slips inside the loft. He can smell someone cooking breakfast, along with the strong scents of acrylic and oil paints and turpentine. His nose wrinkles at the combination and then he heads towards the side of the loft where Isaac works.

He sees Isaac, with a palette and brush in hand, facing a blank canvas, and he watches as Isaac's eyes film over white. In a flurry of motions Isaac's brush is sweeping across the canvas in bright blues, reds, yellows, black, then comes the flesh tones.

Peter nearly jumps at the sound of a familiar voice coming from the kitchen, "Isaac, breakfast is ready."

He expected Simone maybe, but not her. She's supposed to be in Texas, and that dream he had wasn't supposed to be real. It's then that he turns back to face Isaac as the painter blinks, his eyes returning to their normal color, and together they scrutinize the painting. Peter's eyes widen in shock as he realizes who the people in the painting are, and then Isaac covers it.

Peter follows Isaac into the kitchen where Claire is dividing up eggs and bacon on two plates on the counter and there's a pitcher of Kool-Aid set out next to two glasses. He watches as Isaac slips past Claire to get cleaned up at the sink. She lifts a brow at the artist and says, "Is painting always that messy?"

Isaac just shrugs and says, "Yeah, but the result is always worth it."

Claire rolls her eyes and then walks toward him, grabs a dishcloth from the sink, lifts it to his face and begins wiping at a streak of blue. Peter clenches his teeth to keep from saying anything as he watches both Isaac and Claire's stunned reactions to what she's doing.

Isaac clears his throat nervously and then says, "Right, breakfast. Smells good."

The whole scene is so domestic that Peter feels something twist in his gut, and he can't take it anymore, and that's when he loses his concentration and becomes visible in Isaac Mendez's kitchenette, with Claire and Isaac right there.

"Peter?" Claire says, and Peter turns to her, drawn by her voice, but then Isaac cuts in. "What the hell are you doing here Petrelli?"

Peter shifts his gaze to Isaac and snaps, "I had a dream about Claire, and I needed to know if it was true. I guess it is since she's here in New York, but she's not staying here with you!"

"Do I get a say in this at all?" Claire asks, her tone sharp.

"What are you even doing here? Why are you with Ihim/I? He's dangerous! He's a junkie and up until about a week ago he was missing for a couple of weeks!" Peter says.

"I was getting clean!" Isaac growls. "Now I can paint without the drugs."

"Yeah, and I've seen exactly what you paint too, you bastard! She's a kid!" Peter snarls and then he launches himself at Isaac, catching the painter in the stomach and toppling them to the floor.

Isaac tries to shove Peter away, but Peter's fist flies at his jaw. He takes the hit and then scrambles out from beneath the man. He gets to the cabinet where his paints are kept, snatches it open and sees the gun resting on top of the can of turpentine. He's tempted to reach for it, because Peter has taken everything from him that matters, not to mention the fact that the man is literally a walking time bomb. Still he remembers the painting he'd burned of Simone dead on the floor of his loft, and there's also the fact that Claire is here, and he really can't have her getting hurt.

He closes the cabinet and then he's yanked across the room by some strange force. He's held against a wall as Peter slowly approaches him, malice in his eyes, something hard and cold slipping up from the dark depths of those eyes, and Isaac feels fear coiling in his gut.

"Peter! Please stop, just stop! I came to New York to find Isaac! I had to find him to save you! Please, don't hurt him!" Claire shouts, and Isaac can tell when Peter's concentration slips as the force holding him against the wall dissolves and he slips to the floor, landing awkwardly to his knees.

"How would you even know about him?" Peter asks.

Isaac takes in a breath and says, "Looks like our friend Hiro has been messing with the timeline again."

"Why would he do that?" Peter asks, all the wind seemingly knocked out of him, and he jerks his head to get his bangs out of his eyes. "How can you finding Isaac save me? And what about your family, Claire? How could you just up and leave?"

Claire looks down at the floor, moisture shining in her eyes as she says, "It was all a lie. He wanted to take away my memories, wanted me to forget that you saved me Peter. I couldn't let him."

"The Haitian," Isaac says in response and Claire raises her head to look at him and asks, "How do you know about him?"

"Claire, your father, he… He sent someone to find me and they got me cleaned up. He used me to try and find a way to protect you from Sylar, and after they caught Sylar I left."

"You know my father? You could tell him where I am. He could come for me," she says, her voice choking with panic, and just like that Peter goes to her side.

Isaac makes his way toward her as Peter puts an arm across her shoulders, and Isaac can't let Peter win this time, not after he's gotten a glimpse of a future that could be.

"Claire," Isaac pleads. "I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't hand you over to your father. Hiro told you to find me for a reason. He needed you to save me. Have a little faith in a guy from the future. Have a little a faith in me, please."

Claire looks up at Isaac and sees something in his eyes, but before she can answer, the door of Isaac's loft opens and a woman steps inside. They all turn to look at her, Peter's arm still around Claire's shoulder, and Isaac standing before her and the woman looks at them and then her gaze falls to Peter and she says, "Peter? Where have you been? What's going on?"

"Simone," Peter says, his voice choked, and then he takes in a sharp breath and says, "I saw you on the roof with Isaac. I've seen a lot of things lately. Why would you go to him?"

"I was looking for you, and who is she?" she asks.

Isaac pulls Claire away from Peter, unsure of how much has changed because of Claire's arrival and him leaving the gun in his cabinet. Peter gets to his feet and crosses the room to go to Simone, as Isaac answers her question. "This is Claire. She's the cheerleader from Odessa. Peter saved her life."

"And what is she doing here?" Simone continues.

Peter looks from Simone to Isaac and Claire and answers, "That's why I'm here. I saw her here with him and I had to know why, and then I saw him painting, and I think I know now."

Simone's gaze darts to Isaac and the young girl, she sees how Isaac has managed to slip in front of the girl, almost like he's shielding her, and she thinks that maybe she doesn't have to see the painting to know what Peter's talking about. Isaac has moved on, even if he hasn't realized it yet. Something twists in her stomach as she turns her gaze to Peter and realizes that he too holds some kind of affection for this girl, and then she whispers, "Save the cheerleader, save the world. Is that what this about?"

"Simone," Peter whispers as he reaches out to touch her cheek.

She pulls away from him. "No. You can come out of hiding, or wherever it was that you've been doing, for her and to confront Isaac, but you would have me worry all this time without hearing anything from you? You just disappeared Peter! How could you do that? Do you know how scared I've been for you?"

"Scared enough to go to your ex?" Peter accuses.

"It was never like that Petrelli, even when I wanted it to be."

Suddenly Peter doubles over, gripping his head in pain. He looks around wildly before he shakily gets to his feet, pushing past Simone he vanishes into thin air before their eyes, the door of Isaac's loft slamming in his wake. It doesn't take long for Simone to follow Peter's lead, leaving Isaac alone with Claire.

He turns around to look at her, and he sees a look on her face, like she's trying to take in everything she's just seen and make some kind of sense of it. "So Peter is seeing your ex, and you did some kind of painting of me that has Peter freaking out all over the place. Is that the painting you did last night that you don't want me to see?"

Isaac runs his hand through his hair and wonders how he's going to get out of this unscathed without Claire seeing the painting or her father finding her here and seeing that painting. It's bad enough that the sainted Peter Petrelli has seen it.

--

Hiro sighs as he finds himself in the room next to Claire's, the room they use to store some of the artifacts and paintings they've recovered from Linderman's collection. There is a painting on an easel; it's covered with a sheet. There aren't many people who've seen this particular Mendez piece. He knows Linderman's seen it, but beyond Linderman, the artist and himself, he has no idea.

He pulls the sheet back and looks at the painting with a small smile. It's a beautiful piece, the moonlight slipping in through a window, the curtains pulled back, and a couple in a bed, peacefully entwined in sleep, the woman's blonde hair splayed across the man's chest, his dark hair falling into his face, smudges of different colors along his arms and hers. A painter and his lover, that is the title of the painting, and Hiro thinks maybe if this painting comes true then there is hope for Peter, because Peter is not meant to be with his brother's daughter. That is what destroys his sense of morality. Hiro would rather see his old friend hurt than destroyed. Pain is something one can recover from, but being destroyed? There's no hope in coming back from that.

He turns at the sound of the door opening behind him, and sees Sylar. Sylar looks beyond him to the painting, and his eyes widen. "So this is what you meant about the painting. But I killed him."

Hiro's lips turn up in a small smile, reminiscent of the young man he used to be, the young man from over six years ago. "Yes, you did, but do you doubt Claire's ability to save him?"

"I don't know. She doesn't seem like much considering she's in a waking coma at the moment."

"She wasn't always like that. It wasn't until Peter changed, and then he took her. He kept her for a year and when she came back her body was so broken it actually took her days to heal. Remember all the bones that had to be broken again just so she could heal properly?" Hiro replies, sadness weighing heavy in his voice.

"I was the one that found her, and it turned Imy/I stomach to see what he did to her. What he did to the baby…" Sylar trails, a shudder running up his spine.

Hiro gives a small nod, and whispers, "Save the painter, save the cheerleader, save the world."

--

It's been a week since he opened the door to face a soaking wet Claire Bennet standing at his door. A whole week of her living with him, and it's strange how natural and easy it seems, having her around. Maybe easy isn't the right word. They've had a few arguments, mostly over the painting he still refuses to show her, and that one spectacular fight they had after Isaac answered his phone only to realize that he was speaking to Noah Bennet who was asking after any paintings revolving around Claire and Peter.

He's managed to delay the inevitable confrontation with Noah Bennet, but he doesn't know for how long. He's got a back-up plan. He's made a few calls, managed to get one of his former dealers to hook him up with a former cop whose new specialty is creating identities for people. He's prepared for the worst if it comes to that. He even has a small fortune to fall back on and start over if he needs to, thanks to his hugest fan Daniel Linderman.

He groans as he rolls over in the futon. It looks like another sleepless night ahead. He blinks and as his eyelids open his vision floods with white. He soon finds himself locked in the back recesses of his mind as his ability takes over. He can feel his body moving, squeezing paints from tubes, setting up a canvas, grabbing a brush, the long fluid movements of his arm as the brush tenderly caresses his canvas.

He isn't sure how long his cognitive state lasts, but eventually he blinks, his eyes going back to their natural brown, and then they widen as he stares at the painting. It's his loft, the door wide open and standing in the doorway is the imposing figure of Noah Bennet and his friend the Haitian. Isaac swallows, unsure of how much time he has left. He feels the need to hurry.

He runs down the hall, throws open the door of what used to be his bedroom. He watches Claire startle awake and she looks up at him with scared hazel eyes as she says, "Isaac? What is it?"

"I need you to pack quickly, just essentials. I have a few calls to make and then we have to leave, okay? Hurry Claire. I don't think we have much time," he replies.

"Why?" she asks.

"It's your father. He's coming Claire."

She needs no further prompting as she tears out of the bed, gets dressed, and grabs her backpack. She loads its up with the clothes she brought from Texas as well as a few of the things she's brought since coming to New York, as well as that old Ramones t-shirt and gray sweats Isaac had loaned her on her first night in New York. She heads over to his closet, sees an old duffel bag tossed in the back and she quickly packs a few things in there for him, shirts, jeans, underwear.

She hurries out of the bedroom with her backpack slung over her shoulder and Isaac's duffel in hand. He looks up from the phone and gives her a nod of acknowledgement as he grabs a messenger back slung across one of his kitchen chairs and stuffs his sketchbook, some pencils and oil pastels in it. He finishes up his call, hangs up the phone and says, "We're all set. I just called a cab and then we're going straight to the airport, I've already managed to secure a flight on the red eye."

"And where exactly are we going?" Claire asks nervously.

"California, and if anyone asks you're Claire Benton, and I'm Isaac Cabrera, and you are my goddaughter. We're going into hiding, one of my buyers has a few connections and we're all set. How does a condo in California sound? And you can even start going to school again. It's all taken care of," Isaac says, and he has this strange sinking feeling as he watches the changes on Claire's face.

Still, she surprises him with her answer, "If you're not here Sylar won't get you, and I'm not ready to face my dad. Okay, we'll go to California, but before we go, show me that painting."

He sucks in a sharp breath. "Claire, please, lets just go. We've got to hurry."

"No," she answers firmly. "I want to know what made Peter act the way he did. I want to know why you get so tense every time I mention it. I want to have a reason for going to California with you."

He closes his eyes against her searching look, and when he opens them again he sees her backpack and his duffel on the floor and she's standing in front of the covered painting. She reaches out, grabs the sheet that covers it just as he whispers, "Please don't."

She yanks back the sheet and he can feel something hollow out in his stomach as he awaits her reaction. He can't take his eyes off of her as her hazel eyes widen and she tilts her head, her mouth falling open a little, and then she shifts her gaze back to him, a look of wonder on her face as she says, "This is me and you, right?"

He closes his eyes and nods in defeat. "Yeah, but I… It was my ability. I didn't know what I was painting until it was finished. Claire…" he isn't quite sure of how to finish.

She shakes her head. "This doesn't change things. The future isn't set in stone. So how about we get out of here before my dad storms the place looking for me?"

"Sounds like a plan. The taxi should be here by now," he replies as he shoulders his messenger bag, picks up his duffel, and watches as Claire carefully pulls the cover back over the painting, walks across the room, grabs up her backpack and then they head out of the loft. Isaac locks up behind them, and they head downstairs where their cab is waiting. As they get into the cab a shiver slips up both of their spines as they realize that they are different now, and this big move changes everything.

--

Things have been a little hectic for Noah Bennet for the last week, to say the least. There is a raging, psychopathic serial killer on the loose who's made an attempt on his daughter's life, his daughter has gone missing, Peter Petrelli is missing, and he's just received a tip from Angela Petrelli that his missing daughter is in fact in New York. He takes his glasses, cleans them with a lens wipe, replaces them back on the bridge of his nose, pays the cab fair and then he and his friend the Haitian get out of the cab at 215 Reed Street in Manhattan.

Noah sighs as he gives a pointed look at the Haitian, "We wouldn't be here right now if you'd only done as I asked."

The Haitian doesn't seem phased at all by Noah's accusation. Noah shakes his head as they walk into the building, up the stairs and find themselves standing at the door of Isaac's loft. There has got to be a reason why Isaac has been so sketchy. Maybe he knows where Claire and Peter are and he's just afraid to share the information.

Noah doesn't waste any time knocking; he just gives the Haitian a look. The dark skinned man breaks the door down, and the two enter the loft. It's been empty for days, it just has that cold, abandoned feeling to it. Noah narrows his eyes as he glances at the Haitian then he steps further into the loft. He makes a quick survey of the room, taking in the new paintings, and notices the painting of Isaac's death. He lets out a "huh", and then he comes to a covered painting. He raises a brow, yanks back the sheet, and then his blue eyes widen behind his horn-rimmed glasses. He swallows thickly, pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and as he lowers his hands he clenches them into fists.

Something tells him that his little girl isn't in New York anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

Three:

Costa Verde High School is a lot like Union Wells High back in Odessa. Claire is a little surprised by this, especially considering how the people all seem so oddly different and yet the same. She's made it a point to keep a low profile, blend where she can and keep to herself. She drives a hybrid to and from school, and when she gets home she usually spends her evenings working on homework, cooking or ordering dinner, and checking on Isaac in the garage that he's converted into a studio.

In the last two months they have fallen into a domestic routine, living together, talking about school, his paintings, when the bills are due, going grocery shopping. They've watched the news, they know about the weird explosion in the sky in New York, how Congressman Nathan Petrelli was hospitalized with strange burns only to be miraculously healed a few days later, but all of that seems like it's from another life.

Claire sighs as she slips behind the wheel of her car, turns the engine over, and puts the car in gear. She begins to pull out and suddenly slams on brakes as she notices a guy standing directly behind her car. She watches in the mirror as he moves and walks toward her, and she has to admit that with his dark hair and eyes, and his broody attitude, he's not bad on the eyes and once upon a time she might have been interested. She rolls the window down and looks up at him.

"You know I almost hit you right?" she asks. "What kind of idiot just stands behind a car that's backing up?"

He snorts. "Pedestrians usually have right of way in a parking lot, and hey, those things you were saying in biology earlier today about tissue regeneration, that was pretty interesting. Human evolution huh? Well, since your so interested I thought you might like this book…" he says and reaches into his backpack and pulls out a copy of a book that she is already familiar with, IActivating Evolution/I.

She swallows thickly and says, "Thanks, but I really need to be getting home. I'll see you in class on Monday, okay?"

"Sure," he says, confusion evident in his voice as he takes a step away from the car and she sees him in the rearview mirror watching as she drives away.

She takes the long way home, circling and doubling back, unable to shake the feeling that she's being followed. After about an hour of driving she stops to pick up a pizza on her way home. She parks the blue Hybrid in the driveway, gets out of the car, grabs her backpack and the pizza, locks the car up behind her and walks to the front door. She juggles with the pizza and her keys for a moment and finally manages to get the door open. Before she has a chance to pull the keys back out of the door the pizza is being taken from her and she finds herself looking up into Isaac's worried face.

"Anything interesting happen today? You were a little late getting home," he asks.

She shrugs. "I almost ran over this guy from my biology class and I just drove around to kind of clear my head a little and stopped for pizza on the way home. Nothing really, except I might have given myself away as a closet geek for presenting theories on human evolution in biology, and the guy I almost ran over tried to give me a book."

"So some science geek has a crush?" Isaac asks, and he can't help the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth.

Claire narrows her eyes at him, huffs and then pushes past him to head toward the kitchen. He follows her and sets the pizza down on the table as she drops her backpack next to the chair she just pulled out from the table. A moment later she's pulling out a couple of Cokes from the fridge. She takes a seat in the chair, and holds a soda out to him. He takes it from her, and they pop the tabs and take a drink. He gets a couple of plates out of the cabinet and it's just like any other night, until halfway through his second slice of veggie supreme Claire nearly makes him choke.

"He would be cute if it weren't for the fact that I'm not available," she says with a forlorn sigh.

"What?" he wheezes, once he's managed to swallow and remember how to breathe.

"West Rosen, he's kind of cute, but it's not like I can date or anything, and if he knew the truth about what I can do or what you can do or the fact that I'm a runaway… It's hard going to school and trying not to fit in because I can't be honest with anyone about who I am! I feel like I can't make any friends!" she says.

Isaac stares at her like she's grown a second head and then says, "Why can't you date? It's not like I'm holding you back or anything, and it's high school, it's not like you can't make friends if you tried. You're allowed to have a life here if you want it Claire. I'm not going to forbid you to do anything. Hell, if you want to be a cheerleader again then go for it."

She shakes her head, pushes the plate with her half-eaten pizza away and sighs. "You just don't get it. You Iare/I holding me back. I saw that painting. I know what it means."

"It was just a painting, and you said yourself that the future isn't cast in stone. You're right. It changes all the time," he replies, and then he clears his throat and decides that a change in subject is in order. "Speaking of paintings, I'm going to be driving up to Oregon with my paintings tomorrow so that I can have them crated and shipped. Simone called and asked me about my new pieces. She told me Linderman is very interested, but I know that already since he called personally the other day."

Claire perks up at the mention of Simone and Isaac doesn't have to wait long for the inevitable. "And how's Peter?"

Isaac rolls his eyes. "He's on some kind of hunt to find Sylar, him and some geneticist, Mohinder Suresh."

"He's out of his mind," Claire says with a shake of her head, but there's still a little whimsical smile tugging at her mouth, and something twists in Isaac's gut.

She always gets that look whenever Peter Petrelli's name is mentioned, just like some schoolgirl crush, then again the guy literally is her hero. Isaac's eyes drift over Claire, admiring her beauty. She's been the subject of many of his paintings lately, and not just the prophetic ones. He's started having dreams and the paintings are becoming more and more vivid. He swallows thickly as she suddenly looks up and their eyes meet, his brown gaze locking with her hazel eyes, and his stomach bottoms out. He wonders how she can do this to him. She's barely seventeen now and he's twenty-eight. She shouldn't be able to do this to him, to have this kind of hold over him.

She lifts her hand and begins to reach for him, but stops as the doorbell rings. Her eyes widen at the unexpected sound and Isaac can read the fear in them. He sighs and says, "I don't think it's your father. I've been concentrating on him when I paint, just to keep ahead of the game. He won't find you until you're ready to face him again, okay? Neither will Sylar. We'll move if I paint him anywhere near California. Linderman is just a phone call away."

She nods and lets out a small sigh, reaches for her plate again and takes a good bite of it. Isaac smiles at her as the doorbell rings again, and he goes to answer it. He walks down the hall, wondering who it could be, hoping that Peter hasn't somehow managed to track them down, considering his concern on Claire's behalf. Every time he speaks with Simone, the first thing out of her mouth is to ask about Claire for Peter and then she gives him a lecture on how inappropriate it is of him to be living with her, especially after that painting. He usually ends up hanging up on her after that unless he's called to talk business. She is still his art dealer.

He pulls open the door and then raises a brow at the young man standing at the door. He smirks at the surprised look on the kid's face, and yeah, he can see where Claire would go for him. He's got that brooding, emo thing going for him, kind of like Peter. He shakes his head, already knowing who this, only now he has a name with a face, this is the flying boy he's been painting, West Rosen.

"Can I help you?" Isaac asks.

The kid gives a nod and says, "Yeah, I was wondering if Claire Benton lived here."

"So you're the science geek that's been annoying my goddaughter?" Isaac accuses, and the kid's eyes spark.

"Look, we're just lab partners, and I noticed her interest in genetics. I was just trying to give her a book. Is she home?"

Before Isaac can answer, Claire slips up behind him and her eyes go wide. "West? What are you doing here? And how did you even find the place? Where's your car?"

Isaac smirks as he puts an arm across Claire's shoulders and wonders how the kid is going to answer.

"I might have followed you home," he says a little sheepishly, but as he looks up to meet Isaac's gaze his eyes narrow. "And don't you think he's a little old for you?"

Isaac lowers his arm from Claire's shoulder, steps around her to shield her and then gets in the kid's face. "Look here, Flyboy, there's a lot you don't know about here, and I think maybe you've overstayed your welcome, so how about catching the next flight home?"

West's eyes widen. "How do you know that? It's that guy! You're working for the man with the horn-rimmed glasses! You're using a girl to draw me out?"

"How do you know about him?" Claire asks as she steps around Isaac.

West looks at her with loathing as he pulls at the collar of his shirt exposing a couple of parallel scars, like from a tranquilizer gun, and snaps, "Like you and your boyfriend don't know. I've already been bagged and tagged. I was fourteen. It was before my family moved to California, and if you think you're gonna catch me again you've got another thing coming!"

He takes a step back off of the landing of the porch, and begins to hover in the air, and Isaac steps out of the house and says, "Wait kid! We're hiding from him too!"

West hesitates for a moment, but slowly he lands and says, "Like I should believe you. I don't even know you, and I barely know Claire, aside from the fact that she's more than she seems. You know what I can do, you know my name!"

"I know because I paint the future!" Isaac hisses, and then turning to look at Claire he sighs, and figures that she could use at least one friend in school and maybe this will make her forget that painting. "Why don't you come inside and I'll show you? We've got pizza, and who knows, maybe Claire will tell you what she can do too."

Claire shoots Isaac a dark glance and he shrugs and says, "I'd approve more of this kid than Petrelli, so humor me?"

"Petrelli? Like that congressman in New York that walked away from an explosion?" West asks.

"No, his kid brother, Peter," Isaac replies.

"It's not like that," Claire hisses as she stomps back into the house in a fit of temper, and West raises a brow at Isaac, and Isaac shrugs, "Peter saved her to save the world. This guy named Hiro Nakamura told him save the cheerleader save the world. So Peter used one of my paintings to find her and save her from this serial killer named Sylar, and then Hiro came to her and told her save the painter save Peter Petrelli. She kind of hero worships the guy, even if he did almost blow up New York."

"What?" West says, his eyes wide.

"It's kind of a long story," Isaac says with a shrug and then says, "Well, you joining us for dinner or you gonna wing it home?"

West shrugs, but he follows Isaac inside, and Isaac doesn't blame the kid for his crush on Claire, he can kind of relate.

--

Mohinder Suresh shakes his head and turns his gaze to his laptop, studying the List. He doesn't know if he can take much more of Peter's pacing. So far they've managed to find a couple of bodies Sylar has left behind, Zane Taylor, and Dale Smither. This isn't going exactly how he imagined. He expected to be able to save people from the raging Sylar, especially after the incident at Kirby Plaza.

He can't believe that no one noticed Sylar as he escaped, then again Peter was radioactive at the time, and that's as good a distraction as anything. Finally he can't take anymore, and snaps, "If you insist on pacing, can you get your own room? It's driving me insane!"

"It's been over two months! Why haven't we heard anything?" Peter snaps.

Mohinder sighs. "So we're back to the painter and the cheerleader?"

"She's just a kid and she's run away to live with him doing God knows what! You've seen the painting! Mr. Bennet has even come to you to find a way to find them! I know about Molly Walker! She could take us right to them!" Peter snaps, and then he lifts his head, "Or you could just let me meet her! I could use her ability."

"You will not use a child in this insane quest to save some girl who probably doesn't need you to save her anymore! What is so significant about this one girl anyway?"

"She lives in California with Matt and his wife right? They've taken custody of her and they're going to adopt her. Maybe he'd introduce me!" Peter says, completely ignoring Mohinder.

"What about the problem at hand? What about Sylar?"

"He knows about Claire's abilities, Mohinder! He's going to eventually try to get her again, and do you really think Isaac Mendez can save her from that?" Peter snaps.

"He can paint the future. I think he could see if Sylar was coming for them," Mohinder snaps back impatiently. "Of course that wouldn't be a concern if we found him before it ever came to that! What has happened to you Peter? You've become so obsessed!"

"You don't know Claire. She's special, there's just something about her," Peter says.

Mohinder rolls his eyes. "So you have a thing for her? Get over it Peter. You said it yourself, she's just a girl, young and impressionable, and she's probably over that little crush she has on you by now. We have more important concerns at the moment like stopping a madman from killing innocent people, and helping these people with their manifesting abilities."

"I know, but I can't help worrying about her. I feel responsible for her, and no one's seen or heard from them in all this time except for Simone, and it's not like he's telling her anything aside from they are fine and he'll be shipping his paintings to her soon."

"Have you ever thought that maybe she's afraid of being found? She obviously had a falling out with her father, and considering who the man is, I can understand that. She needs time to get her head straight and that is what she's doing," Mohinder says.

Peter sighs. "So basically I'm supposed to worry about her without trying to find her because we are kind of working for her dad now?"

"Exactly, now how about we try to do the job we are being paid to do and track down Sylar?"

Peter hates that he can't argue with Mohinder's logic as he sits down at the table in their room, and tells the geneticist to bring him up to speed.

--

"It's not going to work," she says with a sigh, and Isaac Mendez gives Claire an inquisitive look.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

Claire gives him a pointed look and says, "You're trying to push me on West. Don't think I didn't notice that while you were showing off your studio and being so hospitable. Two months of living with you and I know you don't go out of your way to get to know new people and you're kind of twitchy around new people."

"He's an okay kid, and he flies. He's one of us, Claire. I was just trying to let him know he's not alone, and what do you know about me being twitchy?" he asks as he drums his fingers along the counter, as he watches her pull her biology book and a notebook out of her backpack.

She frees the pen from the spiral binding of her notebook, chews thoughtfully on the cap for a moment and then says, "That, you're doing it again, you can't sit still when something's on your mind."

"Fair enough," he replies with a shrug and then crosses his arms over his chest. "So tell me, what do you think is on my mind?"

She looks up at him with a mischievous smile and a twinkle in her hazel eyes and something flutters in Isaac's stomach, and he sucks in a sharp breath. "I know about the new paintings, the ones you keep covered in your studio."

He stiffens and glares at her. "I thought we came to an understanding about my work. I would show you what I wanted you to see and if it was covered then it was off limits! What are you thinking! That's a total invasion of privacy! Do I go in your room trying to hunt down your diary or anything? I give you space! Why are you always poking around in what is clearly none of your business!"

"I've walked in on you painting! And excuse me for wanting to see your work! I kind of think it does involve me though considering how I'm practically the only thing you paint anymore! I've even seen your sketchbook!"

"What more do you want from me?!" he growls. "You're living with me! I'm taking care of you, hiding you from your father, I've let you save me from Sylar! I don't have anything except my paintings! That is all that I have anymore! That and some stupid ability that hardly makes sense anymore! I don't have anything to offer you! I'm an ex-junkie for Christ's sakes! Maybe you would have been better off with the sainted Peter Petrelli! He's not nearly as screwed up as me! Look at me Claire! I'm twenty-eight years old! I'm out of my mind on a good day, I have no control over what I paint half of the time, and sure I'm not using anymore, but that doesn't change the fact that I still don't know what I'm doing! You're seventeen, beautiful, and with your whole life ahead of you! Why are you still here? Are you that afraid of your Daddy?"

He's stunned by the sharp sound of a smack and the sting across his cheek. He looks at her with wide, questioning eyes and she glares at him. "How dare you! I know my dad isn't exactly the picture of honesty, and he's done a lot of awful things, but he's still my dad! He's the only dad I've ever known and he's always loved me! You leave my dad out of this! As for why I'm still here, maybe I'm not done saving you yet! Sure you're not dead, but you're so bitter! All you can think about is how much better off the world would be without you! I think the world is better for having you in it! Peter wasn't the only one who saved me! You showed him who he was supposed to save that night! And Peter isn't the one who's kept me safe from my dad all this time! That's been you! You've been here, gave me a place to stay, got me back in school!"

"That doesn't stop me from painting you! Don't you realize what I've painted? I'm not what you want Claire! I'm not what you need!"

"I saw what we could have, and maybe I do want that Isaac. Have you ever thought that maybe I could want that, want you?"

"I'm eleven years older than you."

She shrugs. "And you can paint the future and I can't die. So what? What does that have to do with anything?"

"It's wrong. I would be taking advantage. I'm older, I should be responsible."

"But you do want me," she whispers.

He shakes his head. " I won't answer that."

She gets up from the kitchen table, walks toward him. He leans further back against the kitchen counter, trying to pull away from her, but she has him cornered. There's no escape and he knows it. She leans up flush against him on her tiptoes, her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look at her and meet her gaze.

"This isn't right," he manages in a soft, husky voice, and her eyes widen as she feels his growing arousal against her belly.

Heat floods her cheeks, and then she arches up further against him, her left hand drifting to the back of his head, her fingers tangling in his hair as she draws him toward her. "I don't care," she whispers as their lips finally meet, and he breaks.

His arms pull away from his chest, and she presses herself more firmly against him as his hands find her waist, tightening and drawing her as close as possible to him. He doesn't have it in him to fight this, and he's suddenly made aware of a new addiction, her name? Claire Bennet.

He opens his mouth against hers, his tongue venturing out, and she gasps. He licks his way into her mouth, his tongue gliding over her teeth, and he groans as her tongue tentatively moves to stroke his, her mouth opening and shifting against his, and he drinks her in, devouring her mouth, capturing the little moans working up from her throat.

Her hands tighten in his hair, and he groans, pulling back, both of them breathing heavy. He looks down into her hazel eyes, the pupils blown wide with want for him. He feels the last of his resolve break, and right now he could care less, because she's warm and willing and her hands have found their way to his chest, trailing down the soft material of his wife-beater and down along his ribs.

It isn't long before her warm hands are gliding up against the bare flesh of his stomach, beneath his shirt. "Is this okay? Touching you like this, it's okay right?" she pleads, searching for reassurance, and he's weak and she's warm and real and strong.

"No, but it's too late to go back now," he answers huskily and then he bends down, capturing her lips once more, intent on learning everything about her that he doesn't already know.

His hands slip up from her hips, gliding up her taut belly, his fingers slipping up her ribs, his thumbs brushing the lacy underside of her bra-covered breasts, and she gasps into his mouth. He can't help the smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth as he pulls back, trailing his lips along her jaw and down over her throat, sucking and nipping, and chuckling as she squirms and shivers a little beneath his touch.

She takes a step back, pulling away, trying to catch her breath and he pushes forward from the kitchen counter, his eyes dark, his hand rising to cup her cheek and he bends down to capture her lips again, and pulls back, his forehead resting against hers as he says, "This is what I paint over and over again. Is this what you want Claire? Because I'm not a strong man, there's not much left in me to fight with if you say yes now."

"I don't want you to fight… I just…" she pauses and blushes as she continues quietly, "I kinda don't know exactly what I'm doing."

He pulls her close, nuzzling his nose in her hair, inhaling the sweet innocent scent of her. "I wasn't expecting you to have a lot of experience. You're seventeen years old, Claire. I'm twenty-eight. I know there's a gap there."

"Did you have to put it like that," she snaps as she pushes away from him and storms off.

He winces at the sound of a door slamming and reaches down to adjust himself as his jeans have grown considerably tighter in the last few minutes. He runs his hands through his hair in frustration as he begins to pace, but that coiling heat in his stomach and the discomfort in his jeans is not going away. He's not a man with many strengths, and he doesn't think he can take this. He'd resigned himself to painting her, but not pursuing her. She's gone and broken that resolve, and all he can think about is how soft and lush those lips felt against his, how soft and supple her skin is against the sensitive palms of his hands. He clenches his hands into fists, and makes a move out of the kitchen. He has every intention of going to the garage, his studio, but there's a darker force at work, that force inside of him that used to whisper to him about escape, before that escape had been heroin, but now… Now he has a new drug of choice.

--

He's not sure of where he is; only that it's not anywhere familiar. He's standing in a hallway, the carpet is white, the walls are white with a few paintings hanging from them, none of the paintings familiar, but he can recognize the artist. He clenches his teeth and then he hears something coming from down the hall, the sound of a door closing. Curiosity gets the better of him. He walks down the hall, noticing several new Isaac Mendez originals, a flying boy, Hiro and Ando, Simone, himself, Mohinder, his brother Nathan.

Once he reaches the door he focuses on being invisible and then he recalls D.L. Hawkins, and after a moment he's phasing through the door. He sucks in a sharp breath as he takes in what's going on. He blinks and can't bring himself to turn away from what's happening before his very eyes. There's Claire, bright, beautiful, innocent, her fingers tangled in Isaac Mendez's hair as he nuzzles at her throat, his hands slipping beneath her light blue t-shirt. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as Isaac pulls back long enough to lift her t-shirt up and over her head, and then he tosses it to the floor, revealing Claire's smooth young skin and an innocent looking white lace bra.

Peter Petrelli can't take anymore. He squeezes his eyes shut, and suddenly vertigo sweeps over him. His eyes snap open and he finds that he's in one of the double beds in the motel room that he's sharing with Mohinder Suresh. He sits up in a rush, looking around the dark room, he notices Mohinder lying on his stomach in bed, his back rising and falling with his every breath, and then he squeezes his eyes shut again, recalling when he'd dreamed of exploding in a nuclear blast that would take out half of New York with him, and he knows that he's already too late. Isaac's painting is going to come true, and something inside of him feels like it's ripping wide open, and he realizes that it's time he let go to whatever ties he thinks he has with Claire Bennet before he loses himself anymore than he already has.

--

She looks up with a start as her bedroom door is thrown open, her eyes wide, her mouth fallen open in an "o" of surprise. She scrambles up from her bed, ready to tell Isaac Mendez off again for his insensitivity towards her inexperience, but before she can get a word in, his right hand is wound tight in her blonde hair and he jerks her head back, and his mouth lands fierce and open over hers, and his tongue sweeps inside. Her eyes flutter shut and she moans into the kiss, allowing him to devour her mouth.

Let it not be said that Claire Bennet can't give as good as she gets. Her hands find their way to the back of his head, her fingers tangling in his long, wavy brown hair. He begins to nip his way along her jaw and down her throat, nuzzling against her neck with his nose, his breath hot against her skin and making her shiver in anticipation. She lets out a gasp as his hands find their way to her waist and slip beneath her shirt, his hands warm against her flushed skin as he lifts the shirt up further and further until he pulls back and yanks the light blue shirt over her head and tosses it to the floor.

She swallows as he pulls back to look at her, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as his dark eyes roam over her body, and she raises her arms over her bra-covered breasts, suddenly feeling exposed as goose bumps rise across her flesh. He sucks in a sharp breath, tilts his head to the left and says, "You're so beautiful. That's part of your power, that's why I paint you so much, Claire."

He takes a step toward her, grasps her arms and pulls them away from her chest, to look at her. "You're the best addiction I've ever had," he whispers as he leans down, his lips meeting hers, hot and urgent, his hands slipping up her bare back, fingers working at the clasps of her bra until it's undone.

He takes a step back, pulling her bra away, his hands trailing the straps down her shoulders, biceps, and pulling it away. Her arms once again move to cover her breasts and she takes in a sharp breath, suddenly looking unsure. He drops the white lace bra to the floor, and reaches down to the hem of his wife-beater. He pulls it over his head, revealing his body, the muscles and weight he's regained since kicking his heroin addiction, his naturally tanned skin. His chest rising and falling with every breath, and Claire's eyes take in the sight of him before her, a tremble slipping up her spine as her eyes drift to the bulge in his jeans.

He slowly approaches her, and nervously she takes a step back and then another until she's backed up against the bed, looses her balance and falls back onto it. He bends down, his hands on the mattress on either side of her, slowly making his way up to her on the bed, until he's straddling her, his knees on either side of her waist. When his face is level with hers he dips down, his lips brushing across hers and then he pulls back, only to bury his face in her blonde hair spilling around her head, inhaling deeply her scent. He nuzzles at her ear with his nose before tracing the shell of it with his tongue, encountering her earrings with a smile and giving them a small tug with his teeth that causes her to take in a sharp breath.

He shifts a little lower, pressing down against her. She squirms beneath him, a gush of air parting her lips as she arches up a little, her arms meeting his bare chest as she still tries to hide her breasts from him. He smiles against the curve of her neck and begins to work his mouth slowly across her shoulder and collar bone, her breath hitching as his hands work their way up along her ribs until his thumbs brush the underside of her smooth breasts.

He reaches the top of her left breast, pressing a kiss there, and he shifts his gaze up to meet hers and whispers, "I told you, I'm not a strong man Claire. I'm done fighting myself. Let me show you the things I know. Just tell you me you believe in me and I can show you everything, show you what I feel."

She lets out a shaky breath, slowly lowering her arms, and then she reaches up with her right hand, splaying it over his chest, and she gives him a shy smile. "I trust you, Isaac. I believe in you."

He leans up and kisses her, and then he returns his attention to her newly exposed breasts. He leans down nuzzling her right nipple with his nose, smiling as her body quivers beneath him, and then his tongue flickers out, tracing along her rosy hued nipple and she lets out a small cry as her back arches in surprise at the sensation. He cups her left breast with his hand, his thumb rolling over the nipple as he works his tongue and mouth down lower, flickering his tongue into the dip of her navel, as his hands glide down her sides and to her waist. His fingers crawling across her hips and working her jeans open.

Her stomach quivers beneath him, as he slowly begins to lower her jeans. He pulls back enough to tug her jeans off, his hands gliding up the smooth muscles of her legs, such strength and power in her limbs as he works his way back up to her white lace panties, damp with her arousal. His fingers curl over the waistband and drag them down her legs. She shivers as she's exposed, and he hasn't seen anyone quite like her before. She's his own personal work of art, and heat rushes over him as he bends down, his tongue slipping up along the crease between her legs. She gasps and bucks in surprise at the unexpected touch and sensation.

He smiles and uses his fingers to further explore her, his tongue slipping further inside of her, the smell of her sending his senses into overdrive as she writhes against his ministrations, her fingers tangling in his hair as her thighs quiver around him. He chuckles against her and she arches up, a sharp cry escaping her as she comes apart around him, her fingers tightening in his hair. He pulls back and looks up the length of her body as she slowly regains her senses, and he's throbbing painfully in his jeans.

He pulls back, stands at the end of the bed and unbuttons his jeans, lowers the zipper, and her gaze sharpens from the muddled aftermath of the first orgasm of what may be many to come tonight, and she watches as he slips out of his jeans and underwear. She swallows at the sight of him, flushed and aroused, his cock curved up toward his belly. He bends down, crawls up on the bed, his hand trailing up her thigh, her hip, and slowly he strokes along her ribs as he settles beside her, his arousal pressed against the curve of her hip.

She looks at him, again her bottom lip caught between her teeth. He reaches up, strokes her jaw lightly with his fingers and then leans down to kiss her. She can taste herself on his tongue, and in a flurry of movements she finds herself straddling his waist, his arousal flush and curved against his belly, and there's some instinct telling her to rock against him. Something hot flares in her gut, and she leans down, kissing her way down his chest and stomach until she faces his arousal. Curiously she wraps her hand around him, slowly working her hand up. He groans, his head rolls against the pillow, and a newfound sense of power surges through her.

She works her hand around him, his hips rising beneath her, heat pooling in her stomach, and she knows the basic mechanics of sex and making love, and she's also heard things about pain. She's nervous, it's true, but one thing she is not afraid of is pain. She takes in a breath, shifts as she holds him up, and Isaac noticing that something has changed slowly looks up, meeting her gaze and then she lowers herself down on him in a rush. He arches up into her, and she cries out at the sensation of something tearing inside of her.

She drops down against him, feels his hands tighten on her hips. She breathes heavily, and then one of his hands is pushing her hair back from her face as he manages a ragged, "Claire."

Her breathing evens out and slowly she looks up at him, noticing his concern, and then she decides to shift and move, and as she does his hips rock up against hers, and she moans because it's starting to feel so good. She rocks against him again and he groans beneath her. She lifts up, her hands splayed across his chest as she begins to rock against him in earnest, his hands on her hips, guiding her in her rocking, letting her know when to speed up, as he bucks against her, thrusting in earnest.

He doesn't know how much longer he can last as she tightens around him, her thighs beginning to quiver, and the sensations that have been coiling in his gut snap as a spark lights up his spine. He arches up into her as he comes in a rush, her name a repeated benediction of his salvation pouring from his mouth, and moments later she quivers against him, gasping and crying out his name as she slumps forward, her lips lazily kissing his chest as she catches her breath and whispers, "I can hear your heartbeat. I think I saved you so I could hear that sound one day."

He smiles as he absently strokes her back, and slips out of her, rearranging them so that they are more comfortable. He brushes his lips across the top of her head, taking note of her heavy, even breathing, realizing she's fallen asleep, and he whispers a reply, "I'm glad you saved me Claire."


	4. Chapter 4

Four:

There is a subtle shift in the room, and Mohinder looks up with a start as Molly gives a shout, "Mohinder! She blinked, and her fingers they're moving!"

Mohinder gives himself a small shake and sits up, hardly believing that he could have dozed off and then he shifts his gaze to the bed where Claire Bennet has been for the last few months, ever since they managed to rescue her from Peter. He concentrates on her hand and sees that Molly is right. Claire shifts her head to the right, her hazel eyes brightening a little as she says something, her voice barely above a whisper. Mohinder's eyes widen and then Claire's eyes flutter shut as her right hand drifts across her abdomen protectively, and again she whispers, "Isaac…"

He looks up at Molly as the door opens and Sylar and Hiro step into the room. Mohinder looks up sharply, his dark gaze menacing as he glares at Hiro and says, "What have you done?"

--

There is a smirk on his face as he watches the woman through his dark eyes. She's pretty, in a sophisticated sort of way, her feet in heels, dressed in a charcoal skirt, pale blue blouse, and matching charcoal jacket, her dark hair pulled back in a French twist, a few tendrils coming loose around her forehead and drifting back toward her face, her gray eyes stunning and sharp behind her wire frame glasses, a clipboard in her hands as she looks up at the painting, an Isaac Mendez original. She tilts her head and lets out a sigh. It's a shame he has to kill her to get what he wants from her, but he's done much worse in the last year or so.

It's after hours at the art gallery, but he has no trouble getting into the building. He uses his telekinesis on the lock and slips inside. He heads toward her office, knowing she'll step in to take care of last minute paperwork before she leaves. That's just how she ticks.

He's not in her office ten minutes before she comes in. She pauses at the door as she sees him. It takes her only a moment to collect herself and he finds that very interesting. She briskly walks past him to her desk and takes her chair behind it. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, chin perched on his clasped hands, watching her in curiosity, wondering why she doesn't seem afraid.

"I know who you are and why you're here. All I ask is that you let me finish this paperwork and we take this to the back where there will be less mess to clean up," she says in resignation.

He raises a brow at her, wondering how she can be so calm knowing what's about to happen to her. "Okay, but remember what will happen if you try anything. It will get very messy."

"Duly noted Mr. Gray," she says and looks down at the clipboard.

"My name is Sylar," he growls.

"Very well, Sylar," she replies primly.

His eyes widen as he watches her make a few notes, send off a few emails on her computer and then she gets up and looks squarely at him. "If you would lead the way, since you obviously know the layout of my gallery."

He gets to his feet, a little shaken with how well she's taking the fact that she's going to be dying very painfully, very soon. "So would you mind telling me how you know my actual name?"

She snorts. "I bet you're wondering what my power is since I seem to know so much about you. I'm not a mind reader. That was my father. I'm a little different, but what I can do doesn't really matter, not until you've taken it from me. My mother, she was seer, and she told me before she died that you would come, that painting out there only confirmed it. Mr. Mendez has quite the talent," she says and then a bitter laugh escapes her and for the first time in a long time a chill courses up Sylar's spine. "My mother told me one other thing, Sylar. She told me that I would be your last victim. I hope you enjoy my ability."

His eyes narrow on her as he throws her across the room. She hits the wall hard, the breath whooshing out of her. Still there is a smug smile on her face as she says, "Just wait until you know regret, and feel the weight of other's emotions. Wait until you finally have a conscience."

He lifts his hand, pointing his finger at her, and blood begins to run from her forehead as her mouth falls open in agony, her screams filling the air. There, that's more like it. They all scream in the end, even the cool and seemingly collected Ms. Juliana Morgan.

Once he's finished with Ms. Morgan an idea pops into his head. Her gallery has an exhibit of Isaac Mendez's work, so maybe she knows where he is, and from what he's discerned over the last few months, finding the painter means finding the cheerleader.

--

She's sitting across from West in the school cafeteria, she's just finished the turkey and swiss sandwich Isaac made for her lunch, and that's when the churning in her stomach starts. She groans at the sensation. She can't remember a time where she's ever been sick, but lately nausea has crept up on her, especially in the last week. She jumps a little when West reaches across the table, his hand grabbing her arm and she looks up at him, noticing his concern.

"Hey, you all right?" he asks.

She shakes her head, gets up and then bolts for the nearest girls' room. She holds her hair back and bends down over the closest toilet retching. She lets out a groan as she realizes that her stomach is empty again, which is a shame, because the sandwich had been pretty good. She gets up, heads to the sink, washes her hands and splashes cool water on her face, but she still can't shake that sickly feeling in her gut.

As she steps out of the bathroom West holds out her backpack and says, "Why don't we get you home? That's the third time this week you've run off to the bathroom after lunch. If you're sick you should just stay home."

"That's just it, I'm never sick," she says.

He shrugs and says, "Throwing up is as good an excuse as any for skipping school. Come on, I'll drive you home."

She nods, and lets him lead the way to the car.

Neither of them notices the man in the trucker hat leaning casually against a palm tree watching them.

--

Noah Bennet pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he takes in a sharp breath, and then he unlocks the door and steps into his home. He hears the noise of the television in the background, which means Lyle is home. He heads toward the kitchen and sees his wife hovering over a steaming pot. She drops in some chopped vegetables and then turns to look at him, a hopeful expression on her face as Mr. Muggles yaps from her ankles.

"Have they found her?" she asks.

He shakes his head. "No, the detectives I hired still have no leads. They managed to track her to New York, but by the time I got there she was gone again and the trail went cold."

"It's been four months, Noah. We missed our baby girl's seventeenth birthday. Who knows what's happened to her? If she's all right, where she's staying… Oh Noah, what if she's sick or hurt or scared?" she asks.

He puts his arms around his wife and holds her close, brushing his lips across her forehead as he says, "Sandra, I'm doing everything I can. I want her back as much as you do. We'll find her."

She nods as he pulls back, and says, "I just hope she's safe wherever she is. And you've checked with her birth parents? They don't know anything?"

He shakes his head and she closes her eyes tight, tears slipping from the corners, and then she turns back to her cooking, burying the pain and worry over her daughter to save it for later.

--

At the sound of the Hybrid in the driveway, Isaac puts his brush down, wipes his hands on a scrap of cloth, slips out of the garage and walks through the house to the front door. He notices the clock on the way and wonders why Claire would be home so early. He opens the door and sees West with Claire's backpack, following Claire closely, a look of worry on his face, and Claire looking a little green.

"Claire?" he asks, and her eyes widen as she clutches at her stomach and rushes past him into the house. A moment later he hears the door of the bathroom slam behind her. He narrows his eyes on West and says, "What happened?"

West shrugs as he hands Isaac the backpack and Claire's keys. "I don't know. It's the third time this week though. She finished her lunch then ran to the bathroom and threw up. It's weird, I mean with everything that she can do you wouldn't think she could get sick. I guess after the third day in a row she thought it would be okay for me to bring her home. Tell her to call me when she feels better, okay?"

Isaac nods absently as West steps off of the porch and then takes off. He closes the door, sets Claire's backpack down and heads toward the bathroom, wincing at the sound of her retching on the other side. He knocks and she groans and says, "Go away."

"Claire," he says, the concern obvious in his tone. "Why didn't you tell me you were sick? This could be serious."

"I'm fine. Maybe it's just the flu or something."

"Okay, but you need to try and eat something. Got anything in particular in mind?" he asks.

She groans again and he says, "Right, soup sounds good. When you finish up in there I'll be in the kitchen."

Ten minutes later she steps out of the bathroom, her breath minty fresh from having just finished brushing her teeth. She walks down the hall to the kitchen, and raises her brow finding it empty, the pot they use for soup on the counter and the cabinet with canned goods wide open. A shiver crawls up her spine and she knows something is wrong. She heads toward the studio, and as she steps through the door it slams shut behind her and then she's being held against it by an unseen force. She sees Isaac being held against the wall to her right, struggling against the unseen force and in the center of the room is a man in a trucker hat, surveying Isaac's work.

As he turns around, he takes his hat off and smiles at his two captives. "I have to admit that your work is very impressive Mr. Mendez. Not that I'm an art critic or anything, but you get the gist I'm sure."

"Sylar," Isaac growls, and the man smiles.

Claire's eyes widen and that churning in her stomach from earlier is back. Tears rise to her eyes and suddenly Sylar turns toward her, doubled over. He glances up at her, his eyes wide and startled as he clutches at his stomach, and then he cocks his head like he's listening for something. He takes in a sharp breath as he closes his eyes and slowly straightens.

He approaches Claire, a look of horror on his face as he reaches out and presses his hand to her stomach. He then kneels before her, leaning toward her stomach, pressing his ear against it, listening.

"Get away from her!" Isaac shouts, and Claire trembles against Sylar.

Slowly Sylar gets to his feet. "Damn that bitch!" he growls and then he collapses to his knees as he clutches his head.

As he collapses the force holding his captives to the wall dissolves. Isaac rushes toward Claire, gathering her in his arms, kissing her forehead, and then he grabs her hand and reaches for the door, but the door won't open as he pulls on it. Claire gasps, and he turns around to see that Sylar has gotten to his feet, a strange expression on his face, one of grief and regret.

"Fucking Julianna Morgan," he snarls, and Isaac's hold on Claire tightens as he manages to slip in front of her in an effort to shield her from the psychopath in his studio. "An empath and a neonatal telepath. No wonder she thought it was so funny that I came for her. That bitch!"

He then looks up, tilting his head to the side as he notices the way the painter is shielding the cheerleader. "Well, this is a little unexpected. The painter and the cheerleader. And neither of you know."

"Know what?" Isaac asks, as his gaze sweeps over the room trying to think of what could be used as a weapon.

"You don't have to be afraid, in fact I'd appreciate it if you weren't. It's kind of making me sick right now, that and the cheerleader's rush of morning sickness. It's not a good combination. It certainly can't be good for the baby," Sylar replies with a grimace as he again clutches at his stomach.

"Morning sickness?" Claire whispers quietly from behind Isaac, and Isaac looks at Sylar in disbelief.

"What? Don't believe me? I can hear her heartbeat. Congratulations, and if you don't mind I think I'll be leaving now. Enjoy your powers, appreciate them, it's what makes you special," Sylar says in defeat as he reaches his hand out, and the door behind Isaac and Claire opens up.

Sylar walks past the stunned couple and then he walks out of their home and into the sunlight, his eyes closed against the sun's warmth on his face. He feels renewed as emotion washes over and through him, and he swallows thickly as he remembers all the things he's done in the last year to be special. He has a lot to atone for.

--

Peter startles awake, Claire is in danger, Sylar has found her. He doesn't have time to wait for Mohinder to come back. He concentrates on Hiro Nakamura as he squeezes his eyes shut, and a few moments later he finds himself in California in front of a small house with a blue Hybrid in the drive and Sylar standing on the porch. He swallows thickly, wondering if he's too late.

"Sylar," he growls.

The man opens his eyes and turns to look at Peter. He cocks his head to the side and says, "Well, if it isn't good ol' Peter Petrelli. Nice to see you so put together after Kirby Plaza. I figured blowing up would have more lasting effects."

Peter raises his hand, a dark look in his eyes. "Is she in there?" he asks.

"Who? Your cheerleader? Oh wait, she's not _your_ cheerleader. At least not anymore," Sylar says, and suddenly Sylar is doubling over, clutching at his stomach.

Peter gives him an odd look and then looks past him to the door, and his eyes widen as he sees her. It's been well over four months since the last time he laid eyes on Claire Bennet and suddenly here she is, alive and well. It feels good to know that he's not too late.

"Peter?" Claire says, her voice uncertain, and suddenly Sylar turns toward her and says, "Wait, please, don't come out just yet. He's pissed off and that combined with your condition…"

Peter gives Claire a strange look. "What condition?" he asks, and then he notices someone standing behind Claire. Strong arms wrap around her waist, and Isaac Mendez is staring directly at him.

Peter takes a step toward them, and Sylar collapses to his knees and then he holds his arm up. Peter is thrown across the yard. He lands spectacularly on his ass, and then scrambles to his feet glaring at Sylar.

Peter raises his hand again, ice forming on the tips of his fingers, and as he's about to attack Sylar, Claire breaks free of Isaac's hold and then puts herself between Peter and Sylar. Peter pulls his hand back, stunned, and Sylar looks up at Claire in shock. Isaac runs to her and says, "What the hell are you thinking, Claire? He came here to kill us!"

"She told me to save him," she whispers.

Isaac looks at Claire in confusion and asks, "Who? Who told you to save him?"

"Valerie Angela Mendez," Sylar says, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

Claire nods and returns his smile. "For some reason she thinks you're a good man, Gabriel Gray."

"He's a killer," Peter says, and then his eyes widen, and he looks from Sylar to Claire, and then his eyes land on Isaac Mendez.

He crosses the lawn in record timing, snatching Isaac away from Claire. He slams Isaac to the ground and pulls his fist back, it lands sharply in Isaac's stomach, and then something unseen yanks Peter off of Isaac and once again Peter lands spectacularly on his ass. He watches as Claire kneels down next to Isaac pushing the hair back from his face as she asks him if he's all right.

Sylar walks over to Peter, holds his hand out, and Peter looks up at him, concentrating, and his eyes widen as he takes Sylar's hand. Sylar pulls him to his feet, and then says, "You can feel it too, how much he loves her. Bet it stings like a bitch. You can hear their daughter too. It's amazing, only eight weeks along but her voice is so strong and clear. She's gonna be special like us."

Peter narrows his eyes on Sylar and says, "So, finally found a power that makes you feel? You think that changes anything?"

Sylar sighs. "Changes everything. I have a lot to make up for. I know I don't deserve it, but I want that chance to make amends, to do good. You know I wanted to be a hero. Guess I've already fucked that up spectacularly."

"There's always the Company, or working with me and Mohinder."

Sylar grimaces. "Dr. Suresh will take some convincing."

Peter shrugs. "Maybe not if you agree to be his guinea pig."

"Yeah, something to consider," Sylar says, and then he cocks his head to the side and his eyes widen. "Well, I'll be damned."

He watches as Peter's face goes ashen, obviously Peter's heard the same thing he has, and they both turn to Claire, and Sylar can't resist. "Well, congratulations to you too, Uncle Peter. An uncle and soon to be great uncle in one day."

Peter doesn't bother to warn Sylar as he grabs the man roughly by the arm and teleports them back to the motel room he's sharing with Mohinder in Seattle.


	5. Chapter 5

Five:

His cell phone rings, he takes it out of his pocket, looks at the unfamiliar number and recognizes the California area code. He flips open his phone and says, "Hello?"

"Daddy?" he hears her voice and takes in a sharp breath.

"Claire Bear?" he says. "Baby, it's good to hear your voice. You know you have your mother and me worried sick. Why don't you tell me where you are so I can bring you home?"

"It's not that easy Daddy," she whispers, and pulls away from the phone. He can hear voices on the line and then she's back on the phone. "We've got plane tickets reserved for you, we want you to bring Mom and Lyle with you when you come. We'll meet you at the airport. We've got a lot talk about. I'll see you in a week Daddy, and yeah, before you ask, I've been going to school. I love you."

He barely has time to tell her he loves her back as the line goes dead.

He calls his wife a few moments later, tells her to begin packing for a trip, because in a week they are all heading to California.

--

She's shaking as she gets out of the passenger's seat of Isaac's white van, the one he uses when he takes his paintings up to Oregon.

"Hey, are you all right?" she hears from her left, and she looks up with a small, shaky smile.

"I'm fine West. Thanks for doing this. I know it can't be easy, seeing my dad after what he did to you," she says.

He shrugs. "I'm sure this is harder on you than it is on me, and besides, I don't think your dad will be happy to see Isaac right now. I mean I know we're taking them to your house, but this gives you time to work up to it."

"Yeah, the Bennet-Petrelli family reunion. Could anything be more awkward?" she asks.

West runs a hand through his hair, and claps her on the back as he says, "Do I have to stay when we get back to your house? As much as seeing the look on your Dad's face amuses me, I don't know if I want to be around for the fallout."

"West!" Claire says with a smile and then punches him in the arm.

He rubs his shoulder and grins at her. "I'm just saying. It's gonna be wild."

They don't say much after that as they head inside the airport to wait for the Bennets' plane to land. There's a ten-minute delay and then twenty minutes later Claire's surrounded in a hug between her mother and father, while Lyle hangs back looking bored.

"Oh Claire, baby, it's been so long! How could you just leave like you did? We were worried half to death! Why couldn't you just come home? Why did we have to come all this way to get our baby girl back?" Sandra Bennet asks, tears slipping down her cheeks.

Claire wipes the tears from her own face and smiles at her mother. "I'll explain everything when we get home. I promise, right now let's just get your luggage and then we'll go."

"Claire, who's your friend," Noah asks, looking pointedly at West.

West narrows his eyes on Noah and says, "I think you know exactly who I am Mr. Bennet. Don't worry, I have enough respect for Claire not to cause a scene right now all things considered."

"Ah. West Rosen, right? It's been a long time. It's nice to see the young man you've become."

"Noah," Sandra says, "You know this young man?"

Before he can answer Lyle slips past them and heads toward the luggage claim complaining about having to pack most of his PSP games in his suitcase.

Nearly an hour later they pull up in the driveway next to Claire's Hybrid, and a black Mercedes Benz. Claire closes her eyes and West reaches over and gives her shoulder a jab. She gives him a shaky smile as her parents and Lyle get out of the van. She takes a deep breath and gets out herself.

"Looks like you already have some company, Claire Bear," Noah says, suspicion in his voice as he pushes his glasses further up his nose.

"Well, we have some really big news that we wanted to share with everyone at one time Daddy," she replies.

"And who's we?" Sandra asks, and then shifts her gaze to West, who's already walking toward the house, and then she sidles up to Claire and says, "Oh he's cute. Definitely a keeper. How long have you been seeing him? How'd you meet him?"

Claire blushes and says, "Mom, West is just a friend. Let's get your things and go inside, everyone else is waiting."

Between Noah and Lyle they bring in the luggage, and Sandra takes Mr. Muggles out of his dog carrier for the walk to the front door. Claire opens the door and holds it open for her family. They step inside looking around, her mother impressed, Lyle still looking bored, her father taking in every detail and filing it away, and that's when Isaac steps out of the living room and walks up to Claire, his hands going to her shoulders as he leans down, his lips brushing her ear as he says, "Mrs. Petrelli is getting restless. Take your parents and brother to the guest rooms and then hurry back to the living room before Peter goes nuclear again."

Claire nods, her cheeks flushing, and Isaac smiles back at her, and that's when Noah speaks up. "Mr. Mendez, I see you're very much alive and well. What are you doing here?"

"Daddy, this concerns him too. This is his house. Now how about I show you to your rooms and then we'll meet in the living room to talk," Claire says.

Isaac gives a nod and heads back toward the living room, leaving Claire to her family. "Honey, who was that?" her mother asks.

"I'll tell you soon, I promise, first lets get you settled," Claire says in a bright, cheery tone as she leads her parents and Lyle down the hall towards the two guestrooms she'd prepared for them.

She also gives them directions to the bathroom further on down the hall and she hopes they won't ask about her sleeping arrangements. Ten minutes later she leads her parents and brother to the living room where Isaac, West, and the Petrellis, Peter, Angela, and Nathan are waiting.

"Well finally! I thought I was going to be waiting all day for this important news or whatever it is you've gotten us all together for," Angela snaps.

Claire rolls her eyes and ignores the woman as she takes a seat next to Isaac on the couch. Her mother sits next to her, her father takes the last available chair, a black leather chair that matches the couch, and her brother just plops down on the floor.

Isaac reaches out, drops an arm across Claire's shoulder, and Noah notices how Peter turns his gaze to the floor to keep from looking at Isaac and Claire together.

Finally Claire takes in a breath. "First I think all of you need to be introduced. Mom, Dad, Lyle, these are Nathan, Angela, and Peter Petrelli. Nathan is my biological father, Angela is his mother, and Peter is his brother, and you've met West," she says, and then she reaches for Isaac's free hand, he takes it and gives her hand a squeeze as she takes in another deep breath and continues, "And this is Isaac Mendez, artist and graphic novelist. We brought you here to introduce you to each other, because you're my family, and Isaac doesn't have any family except for me and Valerie. Isaac and I want to get married."

"Are you out of your mind?! You've know him for what? Four months!" Peter snaps as he gets to his feet.

Isaac gets to his feet as well and glares at him. "Either sit down or get out of my house Petrelli. This is hard enough without you being an ass. You know what stress could do to Claire."

Peter gives a terse nod and takes his seat again, and Claire smiles as she hears the echo of the apology he gives to Valerie. "Thanks Peter," she says and gives him a small smile.

He shrugs. "It's not like all this is her fault."

"Who are you talking about?" Angela butts in, and Nathan says, "Ma, just shut up and maybe she'll tell us what's going on and why she wants to marry a guy who's ten years older than her."

"Claire," Noah says sharply and Claire reaches for her stomach as a defense mechanism and the room goes silent until her mother bursts into tears, and says, "Oh baby, you're still just a child! And you," Sandra snaps, her eyes narrowing on Isaac. "How dare you take advantage of my daughter! We could have you arrested!"

"No Mom!" Claire says, getting to her feet. "It's not exactly his fault."

"How did it come to this?" Sandra asks, tears still spilling from her eyes.

Angela Petrelli snorts and says, "I thought that much would be obvious."

"Mom!" Peter snaps indignantly. Angela only shrugs.

"After Peter saved me from Sylar at homecoming I found out some things about my birth parents, about myself, and about Dad. I needed some space, so I went to New York to find Isaac. Someone told me that Peter was in trouble, and if I wanted to help Peter I'd have to find Isaac."

"You saved him from Sylar," Noah replies, and Claire nods.

"You saw his first painting, the one where Sylar killed him. I couldn't let that happen, and then he painted you and the Haitian coming to his loft. I wasn't ready to face you Dad. He made a few calls and we ended up here with new names, and I went back to school. I know you probably saw the other painting Isaac did, and obviously that happened too. I'm about nine weeks along," she says and looks to Peter for assurance.

"That's about right," Peter replies.

"And how would you know that, Pete?" Nathan asks.

"Sylar showed up here to kill Claire and Isaac, but he couldn't. Seems like the last person he killed gave him a conscience and neonatal telepathy," Peter answers.

"So you expect us to believe you can talk to a nine week old fetus in your niece's womb when the thing probably still looks like a sea monkey?" Angela cuts in.

"Her name is Valerie Angela Mendez, and I would appreciate it if you wouldn't talk about my daughter like that," Isaac growls, and pulls Claire closer against him.

That is when Lyle puts in his own two cents. "So we came all the way to California because Claire's knocked up and related to a bunch of crazy people?"

--

"That could have gone a lot better," Isaac says as he slips up behind Claire, wrapping his arms around her waist and dropping his head to her shoulder as she finishes up washing the dishes.

She shrugs. "No one was kidnapped or killed so that's a plus."

"But West didn't stay for dinner," Isaac points out.

"I think my dad makes him nervous."

"I think your dad makes _me_ nervous."

She dries her hands and then spins in his arms, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. "I think you can handle my parents. I mean they did agree to sign the emancipation papers so that we can get married."

"Think we should tell them that I'm really eleven years older than you?" he asks.

She rolls her eyes. "I don't think it really matters, and I hope you don't mind, but there's someone else who's going to be at the wedding."

Isaac looks down at Claire in confusion. "I thought we were keeping it small, your family and the Petrellis and the judge."

"Valerie wants her other uncle there too," she says.

"But Lyle and Peter are both going to be there."

"No, her Uncle Gabriel," Claire says.

"What?" Isaac snaps.

"Apparently Angela Petrelli has been keeping a lot of secrets. She's Gabriel Gray's mother."

"Valerie told you that?" Isaac asks, and he brings one hand around to span across Claire's still flat stomach.

Claire nods, and Isaac can't help wondering what kind of ability his little girl is going to have when she's born.

--

They are at the courthouse. Isaac is dressed in black slacks and a black button down shirt, her mother is wearing one of her favorite church dresses, Lyle's as dressed up as he ever gets for church, and her father is in one of his usual suits. Angela Petrelli is wearing a smart black dress suit, and Nathan and Peter are in suits as well. West is dressed in khakis and a polo shirt, and they are all ready to start, the judge calling everyone to order, and then the door opens and a man in a charcoal gray suit slips inside. The judge raises a brow at that, but lets it go, as she's obviously thinking about charging Angela Petrelli with contempt for her constant commentary so far.

The judge is about to begin when Noah Bennet, Nathan Petrelli, Peter and Angela get a good look at the man who just walked through the door. Isaac grips Claire's shoulders as her father looks toward her and hisses, "What is he doing here?"

"Valerie wanted all of her family to be here, and considering he's Peter's twin, I invited him," Claire answers.

Peter and Nathan's eyes widen as they turn to their mother who glares coldly toward Claire and then to the judge, "Well now that everyone is present and accounted for how about we get started?"

"You're one step away from being held in contempt," the Honorable Judge Judith Kensey says stoically and then she proceeds.

It's a short proceeding, the vows are generic, rings and a kiss are exchanged and then the marriage license is signed. Still it's legal and binding and while it's not the lavish wedding every young girl dreams of, it's enough for Claire Mendez and her husband.

As they are walking out of the courthouse with their family in tow, Gabriel rushes toward them and smirks, "Another congratulations are in order. Thanks for inviting me, and maybe it's a good thing I didn't kill you Isaac. Just take care of my nieces. Must be something going from ex-junkie painter to happily married family man."

"I'm just a lucky man," Isaac replies as he bends down and brushes his lips across Claire's temple.

Gabriel chuckles. "Wait till you see what Valerie can do. You're going to have your hands full. Good luck finding and keeping a babysitter. Now I have to go and report back to Mohinder. We're supposed to be locating a pyrokinetic. Sounds like fun right? Then Mohinder is going to be poking and prodding me again to see how I tick."

"You're just lucky that's all he's doing," Isaac replies.

Gabriel rolls his eyes and then looks intently at Claire and says, "Just remember to stay away from turkey, tacos, and tomatoes and you'll be fine. I'll check in with you and Valerie later, and who knows maybe I'll have news about my great brotherly reunion with Sponge Bob of the emo bangs."

Isaac and Claire watch as Gabriel Gray, doting uncle and former serial killer known as Sylar walks toward a black Camry, slips behind the wheel and pulls out into traffic, and it isn't long before they are in a long stretch limousine with the Petrellis and Bennets and West, headed toward the most expensive restaurant in the area, at Angela's insistence, to celebrate.

--

Dr. Mohinder Suresh runs his hand along his slightly stubbled jaw as he observes Claire, waiting on some kind of response. She's already moved, opened her eyes, and whispered a name. It's been weeks since they found her broken and unconscious, unable to properly regenerate her body.

He thinks he sees her eyelids flutter, but he can't be sure as the door to her room suddenly bursts open and a small child slips inside. The little girl looks up at him with a smile that he can't help but return as she says, "Uncle Mo, no one's let me in since Mommy came back. I can help her. I got Uncle Matt's tele…telephonepathy. Can I try?"

Mohinder smiles at the little girl, running his hand through her soft, wavy black hair, and he nods. "Okay Valerie. Go tell your Mum hello."

The little girl lets out a giggle as she approaches the bed, her nose wrinkling at the various machines beeping and buzzing to monitor her mother's progress or lack there of. She reaches up with her small hand and takes her mother's hand in hers. She closes her eyes and Mohinder watches as Claire's eyes flutter again, and her heart monitor begins to beep as someone else comes rushing through the door.

Mohinder ignores the latest intruder as he watches Claire shift on the bed, like she's stretching, her mouth falls open in a long yawn, and then her eyes open. She reaches out and pushes her daughter's wavy brown hair back from her face, revealing the girl's sparkling hazel-green eyes.

"Just like sleeping beauty," Valerie says in awe as Claire struggles to sit up.

The little girl climbs up on the bed and Claire holds her close and then looks up past Mohinder and toward the door, a smile tugging at her lips as the man steps around Mohinder and rushes toward the bed to gather his wife and daughter in his arms.

Mohinder watches the scene with a small smile of satisfaction on his face. Isaac Mendez has come a long way from the junkie artist he met all those years ago, but then again if a woman like Claire could help save the world then she could also help save one man as well.

He wonders if he should tell them about Claire's condition. Then again, with Valerie around it won't take long for them to figure it out.

Mohinder sighs and wonders how anyone, even the Company, could use the last remaining strain of the Shanti virus, the same virus responsible for his older sister's death, on anyone, especially a woman with child. If the virus had mutated and infected the general population, Mohinder shudders at the thought. He's just glad his blood was enough for Claire and her unborn child, the child that no one else knows about just yet.

He steps out of the room and walks down the hall to the main waiting room of his research hospital and he finds the Bennets, Petrellis, Hiro Nakamura, his friend Ando, and Matt Parkman and Molly in the room. He stiffens at the sight of Sylar, because no matter what he calls himself these days, he will always be Sylar to Mohinder Suresh. He smiles at everyone gathered to hear about Claire's condition and delivers the good news, that she's awake, and there are no apparent side effects from the virus. He'll let Claire and Isaac tell them the rest.

--

_The future is a strange thing, changed at the slightest provocation, it is set in neither stone nor canvas. It is in our ability to adapt to the small changes that lead to the bigger ones in our lives that makes us human, and ties us all together. Cause and effect are the threads that tie and bind our destinies, and unified, humanity is a species driven toward survival, growth, and evolution._

End.

--

Author's Notes:

First I would like to note that I am very new to the "Heroes" fandom. I've been a Supernatural fangirl for going on four years now (we are entering our fourth season!), but after some bribery on the part of two of my friends, Shawn and Mason, I've come to the other dark side.

Mason was so happy to find out that I was curious about the show that once I was finished watching Shawn's season one DVDs he sent me both seasons 1 & 2. Mason is very generous, although he swears he will NEVER loan me money for tattoos. Oh well, go figure.

At any rate, after watching the show my muses began to talk amongst themselves and I ventured into reading some fanfiction to get an idea of what's out there, and I've found that I have grown quite fond of one particular and rare pairing, Claire Bennet and Isaac Mendez.

After reading what I could find of the pairing my own muses revolted against me, and while I promised my dear friend Mason some Peter Petrelli/West Rosen fic (yes, I am STILL going to write it Mason. You know how scared I am of you!), I started writing this small little plot bunny.

Well within three hours I had over 15 pages written. Turns out this bunny wanted to be semi-epic. Who am I to argue though? I gave in, and now over 22,300 words later I have a nice little five-part story that I'm pleased with.

I would also like to make a special note that Sylar's victim Juliana Morgan is based off of my favorite aunt, who also beta-read this story for me as my sisters (and usual beta-readers) Jesse and Lissa are still arguing over how to split up another long story that I've written. I have since decided that I will be the one breaking up my stories into parts from now on. LOL.

My aunt also happens to be a huge fan of the show, and she was very excited about being featured in the story, even after I told her she was going to be murdered. She was disheartened until I explained the how and why, and then she hopped on board.

On one last note, I have to dedicate this story to my darling Mason. He is a huge fan of my slash, and while this story will probably serve to profoundly disturb him (like back in the days when I wrote Harry Potter Het), I have to say that he set the wheels and cogs in motion that helped to inspire this story, and despite his misgivings he's encouraged me to finish this project with his favorite form of encouragement:

"Hurry up and finish the damn Isaac/Claire het so that I can get my mile high club on with Peter and West already! Dammit woman! You promised!"

And with that I will now leave you with the sonnet that inspired the title of this story, hopefully someone of you recognized William Shakespeare's work…

_Mine eye hath play'd the painter, and hath stell'd  
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart;  
My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,  
And perspective it is best painter's art.  
For through the painter must you see his skill,  
To find where your true image pictur'd lies,  
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still,  
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes.  
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done:  
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me  
Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun  
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee;  
Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art,  
They draw but what they see, know not the heart._

Hope you all enjoyed! Thank you so very much for reading and commenting!

-Cassie

PS- Aunt Juli, I'm sorry I killed you off in my story, but what a way to go, right? ;)


End file.
